


Made with love

by domino_deshicko



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Christmas Presents, Cooking, Fluff, Food, Gay Sex, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domino_deshicko/pseuds/domino_deshicko
Summary: Gingerbread is the best Christmas present
Relationships: Lorenzo Rey/Andrew Underhill, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Kudos: 24





	Made with love

Simon fiercely sniffs the air and centers himself: the Institute has never met him with such oppressive silence. Christmas is coming, but the heavy doors, reluctantly letting him get in, seem to open the portal straight to the Grinch’s abode. The vampire looks close, trying to rely on his instincts and notices how the noiseless shadows of hunters gliding through long corridors.

“Is something wrong?” he asks in a whisper from the silent girl, but she does not have time to answer. Dozens of hands, as if on command, activate the rune of hearing and rush to the head’s office.

“Izzy,” Simon smiles and gets a hard blow to the ribs from his beautiful lover.

“Shut up,” Isabelle hisses at him and holds her breath.

“No, Mags, of course, I don’t miss,” the voice of the new Inquisitor is calm and unperturbed. “There is a lot of work here, so I even have no free time.”

Alec pauses, and the crowd of eavesdroppers exhales quietly. The massive door leaves no chance to hear what the beautiful husband answers.

“Oh,” a faint disappointment comes through the voice. “But it’s one more week. No, I just thought you’d be back by Christmas. Do not worry. Stay in Paris as long as you need it. These arrangements are extremely important for the Shadow World, so I’ll have to manage without you for another seven days. Love you. Good luck with the negotiations.”

A sudden jerk knocks out air from the lungs, and after a second, Simon finds himself in a dark niche.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

“Simon, don’t you get at all?” Isabelle throws her hands and then looks at him in surprise. “Sometimes you are so slow-thinking, honey. Three weeks ago, Magnus left for Paris for the uber mega important Council of the Down World. Two weeks Alec was waiting for him in Alicante, and a week ago, he came here.”

Isabelle looks significantly at her boyfriend, but he still doesn’t understand anything:

“And?”

“My older brother has been starving for the last three weeks.”

“Magnus put him on a diet? Alec seems to be in great shape.”

“Simon, you’re kidding, aren’t you? No? Oh, God. Alec has been living without sex for three weeks now, in general, as it seems that our beloved warlock dared the Inquisitor of all Shadow World. Therefore, even masturbation is forbidden for this idiot in love. A week ago, he was persuaded to leave Alicante for New York, because, excuse me my language, he had fucked everyone there. Then we couldn’t even imagine what the disaster would come to our home.”

“Izzy, I think you’re dramatizing.”

“Me? Tell that to the demons who disappeared three days after Alec went hunting. Trust me, everyone in this Institute is ready to pray for Magnus to come back as soon as possible. Otherwise, there will be nothing left of us. Our people go in raids, only to stay out of Alec’s sight. He has beaten every shadowhunter in New York, and he did it even without the endurance rune. Jace went to another Institute to gain experience, but I can’t because I’m the head.”

“Damn, OK. Where are you going now?”

“In the raid, of course. But you have to distract Alec’s attention,” Isabelle leaves a quick kiss on his lips and pushes her boyfriend right under Alec’s feet with a wink.

“Simon? Where is my sister?”  
  
“She went in a raid,” Simon answers bravely, while Isabelle blows him a hundred kisses.

“Again? It is getting really weird. Well, and you,” a bad light is kindled in hazel eyes, and Simon takes a few steps back, “you used to train with Jace, didn’t you? Will you keep me company?” Alec takes two steps forward, and Isabelle shakes her head, urging her boyfriend to continue his diversion.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you for help,” Simon makes up his mind and then looks hopefully at his future relative. “Can we talk in private?”

Simon takes a look at his girlfriend, who is giving him the thumbs-up, and, judging by the sympathetic glances of the hunters, goes to his death.

***

“Are you an idiot, Lewis? I thought you had something really important to say.”

“This is important, I wouldn’t ask you if Jace were here, and I have no one else to turn to. Please, Alec, it won’t be long. Christmas is coming, and handmade gingerbread is the best gift. I’ll share with you: you’ll give one half to Magnus, and I’ll give the other one to Izzy. You are my only salvation. How will I understand that they are delicious if I’m a fucking bloodsucker? And you know I’m not much of a cooker.”

“Magnus will arrive in a week,” Alec grinds out the words, and the tone of his voice sends a cold chill down the vampire’s spine. Until this moment, Simon could not even imagine that this was possible.

“We can ask Lorenzo to send him your gift,” Isabelle would have been proud of his courage.

“He is in Paris with Magnus,” an angry voice is heard from behind, and Simon finds himself between Alec, who misses his husband like crazy, and Andrew Underhill, who misses his boyfriend exactly the same.  
  
“We can make three times more,” Simon says quietly, and the two shadowhunters begin a silent conversation between them.

“Well, we’ll help you,” Alec decides, and Simon exhales.

“But I don’t know how to cook at all,” Underhill smiles like a wolf.  
  
“You will decorate, I saw that you draw well, and Alec and I will make the dough.”

***

“It will be harder than I thought,” the same thoughts can be easily read from the faces of two hunters looking at the fussing spirited vampire. And as Underhill manages to escape the cooking under a specious excuse, Alec clenches his teeth and slams the bag with flour on a kitchen table. A cloud of snow-white dust envelopes the hunter, and suddenly he smiles, recalling how last winter he and Magnus ran into a small blizzard.

Tiny snowflakes whirled around them, got under their scarves, remaining on the skin in small drops. The endless dance of sharp ice crumbs and the joyful laugh of Magnus, who with his kisses turned the most disgusting weather into a beautiful fairy tale.  
  
The loud vampire’s sneezing breaks the memories, and Alec exhales: how much he misses his husband.

“We need three hundred and forty-five grams of softened butter,” Simon tells him and looks around helplessly. Another heavy breath and Alec begins to slowly measure out the right amount, freezing as he takes a closer look at the mat silky surface. His husband bought the bed-linen of the same color right before his leaving. Pleased with himself, Magnus showed his buy with a wink, and then he promised to test it properly. Alec shakes his head, trying to eliminate unnecessary thoughts, but Simon definitely decided to finish him today because of cane sugar falls on a smooth, creamy surface.

“Exactly one hundred and ninety-five grams,” Simon’s voice comes from afar, while Alec stands spellbound and looks at the dark golden faces of the sugar cubes, which contrast sharply with light butter. Unable to resist, he picks up one crystal and dissolves it on his tongue, biting his lip hard. A sweet taste with tinges of caramel is felt like the soft skin of his lover under a tireless tongue, and Alec squeezes a deep bowl, trying to keep his mind on the edge of reality.

“We need to beat them well until blended,” Simon happily informs him, and Alec looks gratefully at his culinary assistant.  
  
The noise from the working mixer distracts, and the responsible Inquisitor carefully monitors the process of mixing creamy and golden brown into a mass of indeterminate color.

“What’s next?”

“Three eggs.”

Bright yolks, they are almost orange, one after another falls into the bowl, and Alec falls into the memories of the warm seashore, where the sun of the same color was drawing on a swarthy naked body. Hot rays and moist lips were fighting for every millimeter of the skin that sea had given an unforgettable salt taste. The hunter’s strong hands held his lover, who arched, begging for more. But how pleasant it was to extend the seconds to infinity, ended the torture, only when Magnus bit his lower lip until it bled. The blood drops painted the lips of two men into a dark scarlet hue, and Alec is running his tongue over his lips, trying to keep the fleeting memory.

“Alec, did you bite your lip?” Simon looks at him with wide eyes, and his surprised glance returns Alec to reality.

“Cause you’re talking too much,” Alec snaps, and Simon bats his eyelashes.  
  
“But I didn’t say anything.”

“What’s next? I still need to work,” Alec interrupts the lengthy explanations of his assistant and then curses quietly.

A glossy cane molasses of dark brown color drips from the spoon, reflecting the warm light of a huge lamp, as the mocking eyes of his husband reflected the dim light of dozens of chandeliers in the fancy restaurant. They escaped into southern velvet night, illuminated by a lonely lantern and the real eyes of Magnus, who knelt before him. Nimble fingers effortlessly made short work of his fly and underwear, and then a moist tongue with pressure walked the entire length of the cock. A moment passed, and the powerful warlock began to slowly push his mouth to the cock. And this picture quickly led to the edge of pleasure, which was spreading over the body as the golden honey of huge cat’s eyes, whose narrow pupil pulsed in unison with the waves of the orgasm.

“Alec, are you OK?” Simon, frozen with a spoon, stares suspiciously at the flushed shadowhunter, who is now breathing deeply and avoids to look him straight in the eye.

“Just add all this stuff. What else have you got?”

“Three hundred grams of heather honey, and before that there were one hundred and sixty-five grams of molasses,” Simon answers as if he is standing right in front of a teacher, and then carefully asks. “Are you sure you don’t need help, you don’t look good? I would even say that you have a fever.”

“Unlike the dead, sticking their nose where they should not, I am alive, so my temperature can fluctuate. Let’s continue.”

“I need your help.”

“Are you saying I’m here just for decoration?”  
  
“No, of course not. Don’t be mad, please. I need to choose spices, one and a half tablespoons each, but I just can’t decide.”

The phone call distracts the vampire, and he walks out of the kitchen to answer, leaving Alexander alone with the nice-smelling bags.

Light ground ginger is a reminder of the skinny jeans that Alec tried unsuccessfully to pull off Magnus, who had sneakily seduced him with graceful ankles.

Greenish-white cardamom is a color of satin tunic with many strings that Alec threw into the corner of their bedroom, and now it is hidden under his pillow here in New York.

A warm shade of fragrant cinnamon and spicy nutmeg like a scattering of dark brown moles on the lower back of his husband, forming the mysterious constellation, under the sign of which Magnus was born. Alec knows the taste of each of them well, can find them with his eyes closed, runs a warm palm over them, and then slides his fingertips below.

“I have to go,” Simon doesn’t look up, so he can’t see Alec is blinking, trying to erase the dreamy expression from his face. “I promise I’ll back. You need to add one and a half teaspoons of soda and flour, a kilogram and one hundred twenty-five grams. Can you handle it?”

“Obviously I’m not. I don’t know how to read, so without your guidance, everything will go to pot.”

“Thank you, Alec,” Simon ignores the grumbling and disappears from the kitchen.

Alec sets the mixer aside and begins to knead the dough, adding flour in small portions. Gradually, this process carries him away: big palms patiently mix the snow-white flour into terrible lumps over and over again, and the torn mass combines into a large elastic, smooth ball as warm as the hands that worked with it before.

“Put the dough in the fridge,” says the soulless inscription on a piece of paper, and Alec chuckles, but scrupulously follows the instructions and then begins to clean up the kitchen. And everything is going well until the moment when he begins to wash the dishes. The cleaning fluid spills onto his hands, and the plates keep trying to slip out of his hands, while Alec remembers another experiment of Magnus. Slowly slippery fingers lead a soapy path along the big palm, and in memories, swarthy hands easily apply a transparent substance to the whole body. “Don’t you understand that we are just going to fall?” Alec makes one last attempt to appeal to reason, but no one is able to keep his husband from experimenting. «Don’t miss the opportunity to experience new sensations with our special bed linen. Sliding sheets are designed for your wildest fantasies».The sheet turned into an instrument of torture by the dodgy salesmen’s efforts, immediately finds common ground with Magnus, but becomes the sworn enemy of the clumsy hunter for some reason. The advantage of his strength and speed is nullified. Magnus without even resorting to magic wraps around the body, leaving his marks on his fair skin. Like a flexible snake, he glides on the pattern of dark runes, leaving no opportunity to embrace and attract to himself. Alec can feel every muscle that touches his thighs, shoulders, sides, calves, but his hands grab only air once again. Trying to get on all fours does not end well, because Alec sprawls on the slippery surface, and his husband never misses the right opportunity. And Alec obeys, allows himself to be drawn into this cycle of bodies, throwing back his head and admitting his defeat. Hot palm fondles the cock, closing it into a ring of fingers, and the kitchen timer breaks the fantasy with a loud squeak.

“The faster I’ll do it, the better”, Alec decides and throws a cold ball on the work surface. Smooth dough lands with a soft slap on the massive marble plank, and Alec exhales slowly, remembering a hundred more of the same sounds that filled his bedroom. Two bodies, sweating after training, ripping each other’s clothes to get in touch. And Magnus is so human, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. Only the angels know how much strength it took for Alec to restrain his passion and take his time. But it was worth it. Every groan he managed to steal, every “love you” uttered in a low whisper, every scratch on his back from short but invariably painted nails. No magic, just him and his beloved behind the thin bedroom door, and judgey eyes everywhere in Institute afterwards. A rolling pin appears in the hands, and in a few confident movements, a rounded ball turns into a smooth disk, sandwiched between two layers of cookery parchment paper. Alec critically examines the baking tins prepared by Simon and frowns in disgust: Izzy loves this vampire, but not to the extent that she appreciates the gingerbread in the shape of Darth Vader’s head. A short search, and he begins to cut out various little snowmen, houses, bells, and other attributes of Christmas. On the last holidays he and Magnus had sex right in the office of the head of the Institute, fast and passionate sex, as hot as an oven heated to a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. These thoughts are so out of place, but it is impossible to refuse them. Bake for seven to twelve minutes. That was exactly how long it had taken him then to pull off all the clothes from Magnus and had sex right on the big table, without foreplay and long caresses. Alec throws his head back and groans. They were so turned on that the glamour disappeared from his lover’s eyes as soon as Alec’s cold fingers reached the naked skin. The full-length thrusts, fast and sweeping, and then short and chaotic. It seems that it was only through his husband’s efforts they made it to the party, unlike Lorenzo and Underhill. Alec bites his lip and pulls out the gingerbread, which has already lured a whole horde of hunters who are always ready to profit. Each of them at first freezes in amazement, and then skedaddles out of harm’s way. It is scary when the Inquisitor is black as thunder, but it’s absolutely terrible when he bakes something incredibly delicious and smiles at the same time. Only Underhill, his eternal partner, nods briefly and goes for the icing while Alec finds the wrapping paper. The tips of his fingers touch the cold, smooth fabric, and the hunter sees a scarlet ribbon. The satin stream falls in palms, and Alec’s body is covered with goosebumps. A narrow red stripe wrapped around graceful wrists and patches of the wrong candlelight on short maroon nails. The best birthday present, the best birthday of his life, for both of them. Alec closes his eyes and sniffs the air to distract himself from vivid memories: it smells like Christmas: ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, sandalwood ...?

“I never thought my husband could do that. How could you hide your culinary talents from me for so long, honey?” Magnus examines the gingerbread man thoughtfully, then bites off his head with relish and blissfully closes his eyes. “Peerless.”

“What are you doing here?”

“A little birdie told me the news that the formidable Inquisitor was baking, and I couldn’t miss it.”

“But what about the negotiations?”

“Paused. Unlike you, sweetheart, I miss you. Although looking at your jeans, I can conclude that you too. Or did the cooking process affect you so much?”

“I’ll show you clearly who affected whom and how.”

Magnus cries out when Alec takes him in the arms and surrounds him with a completely stupefying scent. Magnus puts his neck to the bites-kisses, and Alec, quite unashamedly, carries him to their bedroom, while his husband out of the corner of his eye notices the happy faces of the hunters, who are almost ready to start dancing at the sight of a hot couple. But everything fades into the background when the door closes.

The incessant groans that are heard from the Inquisitor’s bedroom cause a satisfied smile on the faces of the shadowhunters only for the first five minutes. After fifteen minutes, the inhabitants of the Institute are ready to rip out the heart of anyone who would remind them how they wanted this damn warlock to return to his husband.

“I saw Lorenzo here,” the watchmen cheerfully inform the downcast Raj, and he lopes to ask Lorenzo to cast a spell of inaudibility on all this debauchery.

“What the ...,” Raj covers his mouth with his hand, turns around, and quickly leaves, trying to banish from his memory the darkened gaze of Lorenzo, focused on Underhill, calmly licking the thick milk icing from the fingers.

***

“Simon, you’re the best. They are so delicious and so beautiful,” Isabelle is eating the third gingerbread and her beloved breaks into a smile.

  
“That’s because they are made with love.”


End file.
